


your brother was right

by lunamarii



Series: 🦀 tubbo is gone au 🦀 (on hiatus) [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Hurt No Comfort, I am a Tubbo apologist first, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Sad Ending, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Temporary Character Death, Unreliable Narrator, person second, please read the trigger and content warnings in the notes, tubbo is straight up not having a good time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:40:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28420002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunamarii/pseuds/lunamarii
Summary: Tommy is dead. Tubbo's coping. (No he's not.)
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Eret & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: 🦀 tubbo is gone au 🦀 (on hiatus) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2119575
Comments: 61
Kudos: 611





	1. your brother was right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Implied/Referenced: (Suicide, Alcoholism/Alcohol abuse, Mild self-harm)  
> Explicit: Suicide Attempt  
> CW: Swearing, Self-hatred, Unhealthy coping mechanisms, Temporary/assumed character death, Underage drinking
> 
> title is a bastardization of "your sister was right" by wilbur  
> beta-ed by: [Rudy_Rose_Heartbeat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rudy_Rose_Heartbeat/pseuds/Rudy_Rose_Heartbeat) and [Malaise_Incarnate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malaise_Incarnate/pseuds/Malaise_Incarnate)

There’s a sinking feeling in Tubbo’s chest as he stares at the remains of Logstedshire. Initially, when he had seen the massive crater in the place of Tommy’s tent, he had only been slightly concerned. After all, Tommy had set a precedent of being incredibly destructive. No, the remnants of an explosion were only mildly concerning to Tubbo. But…

“Surely not–” Tubbo mutters. Stemming from the crater was a one-block wide tower, reaching all the way up to build height, with no discernable way down.  _ Tommy wouldn’t do that… would he?  _ Images come unbidden to his mind of Tommy, exiled by Tubbo. Tommy, alone with no one but his older brother’s ghost. Tommy,  _ alone _ . 

All of a sudden it’s hard to breathe. Tubbo falls to his knees. “Oh god,  _ Tommy.”  _ And alone, in the place where he banished his best friend to, Tubbo begins to grieve.

\---------------------------------------------

Tubbo stumbles through the community nether portal, barely holding himself up. His hand is squeezing the compass Wilbur had given him so tight that his palm is starting to bleed, and his eyes are stinging with tears. He’d stayed in Logstedshire for hours, sobbing and screaming at the sky, hoping that if he was loud enough, maybe someone, somewhere, would bring Tommy back. He’d offered money, armor, power,  _ his life _ for Tommy to come back, shouting until his throat was hoarse. It hadn’t worked. When the sun started to set and monsters started to spawn, he’d pushed himself up and staggered back to the portal. 

As he heaves himself down the stairs, he sees someone run up to him. It’s Ranboo. 

“Tubbo, are you okay, man?” Ranboo asks, laying a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder, voice laced with concern.

“I’m fine.” He’s not.

“Tubbo, I’m not sure–”

“I said I’m fine!” Tubbo yells, voice shaking. Shit. He hadn’t meant to shout. He pushes Ranboo’s hand off. He’s started crying again. Fuck. “You know who’s not fine? Tommy. Tommy’s not fucking fine, and I am, and it’s my fault, I fucking killed him, oh my god, I killed him, what have I done, I–” he cuts off his rambling with a rattling breath. 

“Tubbo, what happened?” Tubbo looks up at Ranboo with water in his eyes.

“Tommy’s dead.”

\---------------------------------------------

Phil sits across from Tubbo, hands clasped together, mouth set in a line. They’re at a small table on the first floor of Phil’s house. Tubbo avoids thinking about who was supposed to live next door. “You said you had something important to tell me?” Phil says, voice unsure. Tubbo takes a deep breath.  _ Keep it together, don’t cry, Phil is gonna hate you, and you’ll deserve it, you killed his son, you let him down, you deserve to–  _ “Tubbo? You alright, mate?” Phil looks concerned.

“Phil, I don’t quite know how to say this. I– I went to check on Tommy the other day, and he… “ His voice peters out. Tubbo reminds himself to breathe, and stares at his hands. He notices a small stain on the wood of the table. He starts again.

”Tommy appears to have taken his own life. I give you my greatest condolences. If there is anything that I can do for you, be it within my office as president of L’manberg or otherwise, please let me know.” He did it. He won’t cry. He’s fine.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tubbo’s head whips up. He meets Phil’s eyes and  _ shit. _

“Sorry?” Tubbo’s voice shakes.

“My fucking son, your best fucking friend, is dead, and all you can say is ‘My condolences’?” There’s fury and blame in Phil’s words. Tubbo deserves it. It still hurts.

“Phil, I-”

“No, no, I don’t want to hear it. Get the fuck out. Get the fuck out of my house.” Phil levels a spiteful glare at Tubbo, only slightly lessened by the tears streaming down his face. “This is your fucking fault.” Tubbo shakily stands, and all but runs out of Phil’s house. 

Tubbo runs, and runs, until he can’t feel his feet, and can’t see past the tears in his eyes. A sign takes him out at the knees. He falls, landing in grass and mud.

‘Safe Haven’ is what the sign says.

He looks up, and there in front of him is the house he and Tommy had built, far away from L’manberg, from wars, from Wilbur, from Dream. Tubbo just wishes they’d gotten a chance to stay there.

\---------------------------------------------

Ghostbur doesn’t hang around L’manberg as much anymore. At first, it was because he was staying with Tommy, doing ‘Lads on Tour’ as he called it. Tubbo doesn’t know where he is now.

He’s gone into Ghostbur’s house, looking for a proclamation he needs to complete some paperwork. 

He’s been doing a lot of paperwork recently, throwing himself into his work. Quackity told him he needs to rest, to mourn. He told Quackity to fuck off. 

He pulls the book he needs from a barrel, actively avoiding looking at the declaration he’d signed after the first war. He tries not to think about how he’s the only founder left.

On his way out, a crackling noise catches his ear. He turns around and sees a row of brewing stands, with potions left out, brewed for too long by now. He tries not to think of the Camarvan. Tubbo moves closer, attempting to figure out what potions Ghostbur had been making. All he sees are potions of poison. Tubbo thinks. He pockets a couple.

\---------------------------------------------

Tommy’s funeral was today. Phil didn’t show up. Apparently, Quackity and Fundy gave lovely speeches. Tubbo wouldn’t know. He didn’t show up either. Instead, he locked himself in his office with a bottle of whiskey he’d found in the drawer on his first day. He drank until he threw up, and then he drank again. Honestly, he kind of hoped he’d get drunk enough that he’d see Tommy again, even just for a minute. He didn’t. No, instead he saw–

_ “You look fucking pathetic, kid.” _

“Thanks, Schlatt,” Tubbo slurs out. He isn’t sure if the man hovering above him is a ghost or a figment of his imagination, but Tubbo’s so far gone that it doesn’t matter to him.

_ “It’s not so easy being president, is it?” _

“How did you handle it?” Tubbo asks, his voice scratchy. He knows Schlatt was shit at handling anything but alcohol, but he needs something,  _ anything _ , because Tubbo is so close to breaking.

_ “By doing exactly what you’re doing right now.” _ Schlatt gestures around.  _ “This whole thing, the fucking presidency, this stupid fucking country, it drains you.” _ He looks at Tubbo. If Tubbo didn’t know better, he’d say there was pity in the man’s eyes.  _ “Trust me, kid, the best thing I did in this god-forsaken place was die.”  _ And with that, Schlatt is gone.

Tubbo drains the bottle.

\---------------------------------------------

“What the fuck is this?”

“It appears to be a bottle, Quackity,” Tubbo responds, rubbing his eyes. His head is throbbing and Quackity’s yelling is not helping.

“Are you fucking drinking?” Tubbo meets Quackity’s eyes and almost flinches at the anger and betrayal in them.

“And what if I am?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you fucking serious? Did you learn nothing from Schlatt?” Tubbo has learned far more than he’d like to admit from Schlatt.

“Quackity, please leave if you have nothing of importance to say.”

“Unbelievable. You better sort your shit out, because I am not doing this again.” Quackity throws the empty bottle in the trash and storms out of the room. Tubbo tries not to cry.  _ God, I fuck everything up. _

\---------------------------------------------

“How do you know when it’s too much?” Tubbo asks himself.

\---------------------------------------------

Things in L’manberg are pretty shit, if Tubbo is going to be honest. He hasn’t touched a drop of alcohol since the funeral  _ (lie, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Wilbur says) _ , but Quackity is still pissed, only speaking to him to plan for “The Butcher’s Army”.

The Butcher’s Army. What a fucking nightmare that was. Tubbo had tried to ignore the way that Phil had stared at him when they’d placed him on house arrest, eyes wide. He’d tried to ignore the phantom weight of ram horns, resting on his head. Then, sure, they got Technoblade onto the execution platform, but Dream had given him a totem and the pig had escaped. Tubbo is just exhausted. 

He’s exhausted, and his hand is starting to develop a scar in the shape of a circle, and he’s trying really hard not to look for more things Schlatt had left behind. He’s trying really hard not to become Schlatt. He just hopes he hasn’t already failed.

“Um… Mr. President?” Tubbo looks up from his work to see Ranboo standing in the doorway.

“Yes, Ranboo?”

“We have a situation.” Tubbo lets out a sigh.

“What kind of situation?”

“A hostage one.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Tubbo stands up and gestures at Ranboo. “Lead the way.”

\---------------------------------------------

_ How? _

“Tommy?”

\---------------------------------------------

  
  


Tubbo is shaking.

“Well, that could’ve gone better.” Tubbo ignores Ranboo. Tubbo is shaking, and Tommy is alive, and Tommy is with Technoblade, and Tommy is  _ alive _ , and Tommy… Tommy hates him.  _ But don’t you deserve it? Come on, you exiled him, of course he hates you. Why does it matter? You did what was best for the country didn’t you? You were a good leader,  _ **_right_ ** _?  _ Tubbo tries to ignore the thoughts, but his ears are ringing and his head feels like it’s filled with cotton, and  _ oh my god, Tommy’s  _ **_alive_ ** .

“..Tubbo?” Tubbo snaps back to Ranboo staring at him with concern in his eyes. “Tubbo? Dude, are you ok–”

“I- I- I have to go,” he stammers out, already stumbling backward.

“Tubbo?”

“I have to go.” Tubbo sprints back to his office, body trembling, eyes filling with tears, nails digging into his hands. He hopes he bleeds.

\---------------------------------------------

Tubbo has locked himself in his office. There are bleeding crescents on his palms from digging his nails in. He pushes them in harder. Tommy hates him. Tommy hates him and it’s all his fault. 

All Tubbo can see in his mind is the hurt on Tommy’s face when he’d pleaded with him, asking why Tubbo had never come to visit. Tubbo had tried, really tried, to explain that he had, and Tommy just wasn’t there. But Tommy wouldn’t listen, and who could blame him? 

Tubbo should’ve been there, he was the one who exiled Tommy, but he hadn’t, he hadn’t been there. He’d hid in his office and tried to convince himself that Tommy was fine, that he’d made the right decision. But he couldn’t help but think about Tommy constantly. Hell, he’d even asked Dream if it was a good idea to visit him.

_ “Maybe just for like a day or two? Do you think he’d want to see me?” _

_ “I don’t know Tubbo, he was pretty hurt the last time I talked to him. You might want to give him a bit more time,” Dream had replied. Tubbo’s shoulders sank. _

_ “Oh.” _

God, what had he been thinking? He should’ve gone anyways, fuck it if Tommy hadn’t wanted to see him, he should’ve gone. Tubbo rips his coat off.

“FUCK,” he yells at no one, at the walls, at himself. He tosses his jacket down. It clinks. He bends down and digs into the pockets, finding the potions he’d taken from Wilbur’s. Tubbo leans against the wall and slides down, eyes fixed on the glass bottles in his hands. 

_ Could he? _

_ Should he? _

He thinks about it. Quackity would make a great president, people had always looked to him, respected him, more than they had Tubbo anyways. They’d mourn, maybe, but not for long. Tubbo had never been really close to anyone except for Tommy. And Tommy hated him. So there wouldn’t really be anyone to miss him. He wonders if he’d become a ghost. Ghostbur seemed happy enough, oblivious to everything he’d done. Wouldn’t everything be easier?

Everything just hurts all the time, and Tubbo is so very alone, and he just wishes that everything would just stop for a minute. He’s fucked up L’manberg, fucked up with Tommy, fucked up with Phil, fucked up with Quackity. Wilbur would be disappointed in him. Schlatt might be proud.

Tubbo thinks it might be too much.

Tubbo uncorks a bottle.

He drinks it.

\---------------------------------------------

_ “Jesus Christ, kid…” _

\---------------------------------------------

Tubbo wakes up on the floor of his office.

\---------------------------------------------

_ “How do you know when it’s too much?” Tommy asks after standing on a ledge for far too long. _

\---------------------------------------------

“How do you know when it’s too much?” Tubbo asks with an empty bottle of poison beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave any comments or criticism in the comments! I'm considering adding a few more chapters from both Tubbo's perspective as well as a few others (eg. Phil, Tommy) so this work may be updated later. Give it a kudos if you enjoyed, and consider checking out my other works! Also let me know if I need to add anything to the TWs and CWs.  
> (Edit 1/6/21: edited grammar, punctuation, and flow)  
> 
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/lunamarii__/)
> 
> [reddit](http://reddit.com/u/borderline_alive)


	2. i'm sorry wilbur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything hurts. Tubbo tries to make it stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Implied/Referenced: (Suicide, Alcoholism/Alcohol abuse, Mild self-harm)  
> Explicit: Suicide Attempt  
> CW: Swearing, Self-hatred, Unhealthy coping mechanisms, Character death, Underage drinking
> 
> chapter title is a bastardization of I'm sorry Boris by wilbur  
> beta-ed by [Rudy_Rose_Heartbeat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rudy_Rose_Heartbeat/pseuds/Rudy_Rose_Heartbeat)

Tubbo’s been spending a lot of time at Phil’s house lately. The man is far gone by now, having escaped house arrest shortly after Technoblade’s failed execution. Tubbo can’t bring himself to care. But he sits in Phil’s house, and closes his eyes, trying to pretend that he is much younger than he is. If he sits there for long enough, he can almost go back a few years.

He can almost feel Phil’s hand ruffling his hair, feel the sting of a healing potion on knees skinned by playing just a bit too rough. He can almost feel Tommy, holding Tubbo’s hand as he himself gets patched up, “not because I’m a bitch, but because I know you're very clingy Big T.” Tubbo had always pretended not to see his eyes tearing up. 

The worst part of being in Phil’s house, Tubbo knows, is opening his eyes. Because then, Tubbo is confronted with the truth. He is forced to accept that he is in an empty house that he has no right to be in. A house that almost smells like what home used to be, but not quite. It hurts. Tubbo always goes back.

\---------------------------------------------

Tubbo is drunk again. There’s a shameful pit growing in his stomach. He tries to fill it with whiskey. Tubbo hasn’t slept in 4 days. The last time he tried, he’d dreamt of Tommy shoving a sword into his stomach. He can’t quite figure out if it was a nightmare. That scares him, so he doesn’t sleep.

No, instead he drinks, and sometimes he’s lucky enough to pass out. But most of the time he doesn’t. Most of the time he talks to Schlatt.

“ _ Kid, you can’t keep doing this. _ ” Tubbo’s not a kid. He’s the president.

“Don’t call me kid. M’not a kid.” Tubbo hopes he’s saying coherent words. It doesn’t feel like it.

_ “Yes, you fucking are. You’re a fucking kid, who is acting way too much like me for my own comfort.”  _ Tubbo is confused.

“I thought you wanted me to be like you?” There’s a painful naivety in his words. A look of regret paints itself onto Schlatt’s face.

_ “Not like this. Never like this.”  _

“D’you reckon I’ll grow horns?” 

_ “Christ, I hope not.” _

\---------------------------------------------

Tubbo thinks he finally understands why Wilbur never wore armor. 

It was an accident, the first time. Tubbo had headed into the wilderness behind L’manberg and forgotten to put on his armor. He’d only noticed when a skeleton had shot an arrow through his shoulder. He’d liked the pain more than he’d ever admit.

It felt like a way to atone, a way to be punished for his wrongs. If no one else would do it, he’d do it himself.

So Tubbo doesn’t wear armor, chases the feeling. If anyone questions him about it, he just says he’s following the spirit of the law, even outside L’manberg.

Tubbo used to think that law was stupid.

Now, he doesn’t think he could thank Wilbur enough.

  
  


\---------------------------------------------

Quackity’s yelling at him. He was an idiot and left his office door unlocked, and Quackity had walked in on him halfway in the bottle. His vice president wasn’t taking it well.

“You’re a fucking 17-year-old, where the fuck did you even get whiskey?”

“Schlatt left it behind,” Tubbo mutters. Quackity goes quiet.

“Of course. Of fucking course. That bastard couldn’t just die and leave us all be, he had to go on and be a fucking dickhead from the afterlife too,” Quackity rants, his voice steadily rising. He stalks over to Tubbo’s desk and begins pulling cabinets open, throwing out papers and files. Tubbo frantically pulls himself up. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he questions, staggering slightly as he stands.

“Searching for anything else the asshole left.”

“You can’t do that!” Tubbo grabs Quackity’s wrist. Quackity turns to face him, an unidentifiable look in his eyes. 

“Why not?” Quackity’s voice is dangerously low. Tubbo stutters.

“Because- because this isn’t your office. It’s mine, and you have no right to be going through it.”

“Tubbo, I am trying to help you.” Ouch. Tubbo sucks in a breath, and steels himself to say something he knows he’ll regret.

“Quackity, as your superior, you have no right to interfere in my personal life.” Quackity looks like someone’s just slapped him.

“Okay then.” Quackity yanks his hand out of Tubbo’s grasp. “I’ll see you tomorrow then,  _ Mr. President _ ,” he says, spitting out the title. Quackity leaves, slamming the door behind him. Tubbo sinks into his chair, looking at the mess strewn about his office. 

“Fuck.” Tubbo starts to cry. 

A former president floats behind him. He’ll forget this ever happened in the morning. But for now, he lays a transparent hand on Tubbo’s shoulder and attempts to comfort his brother’s best friend.

\---------------------------------------------

_ “Tommy, what does it mean for something to be too much?” _ Ghostbur asks one day. Tommy winces, then resumes building.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with, big man.”

_ “Okay!” _

\---------------------------------------------

It’s been a week since Tubbo’s spoken to anyone but Schlatt. He’s once again holed himself up in his office, drowning himself in his work. This time, Quackity doesn’t come to get him. He can’t hold it against him.

He’s working a few weeks into the future, trying to make the transition as easy as possible for Quackity. After all, he knows how hard it is to be president.

\---------------------------------------------

Tubbo’s finished with paperwork. He leaves his office in the middle of the night, hoping to find a few spiders to kill, mobs that have slipped around the torch grid. He also sneaks into Niki’s old bakery. He knows he could just ask, but he doesn’t think she’d give him sugar if she knew what it was for.

\---------------------------------------------

Tubbo thinks now is as good a time as any. Quackity, Fundy, and Ranboo are off mining ancient debris in the nether, and no one adjacent to L’manberg would question him. Tubbo enters the crane Ghostbur had made, climbing down the ladder and trudging through the water to enter his house. Everything he needs is here. 

He remembers a day a few months ago where Ghostbur had dragged him down into the ghost’s home, excited to show Tubbo a mushroom farm he’d made in a back room. Tubbo remembers almost patronizing him, telling him how useful it was.

It certainly is useful now.

Tubbo places a bottle of poison on the brewing stand, eerily reminiscent of when he was last here. He shakes his head and places a fermented spider eye in the potion. 

Tubbo waits.

\---------------------------------------------

Tubbo’s hands are shaking as he walks across the country he created. It’s beautiful, he thinks to himself. He can’t imagine how much greater it will be when he’s gone.

He’s decided on the bench. Heaven knows the White House doesn’t need any more ghosts. So he’s decided to be selfish, one last time, to live his last where he’d lived his happiest.

A part of him has always been scared of dying. Scared to be a part of the nothingness, to cease to exist.

That part is quiet now.

He can see the sun starting to set as he reaches the overlook. He settles down onto the right side of the bench, leaving a space open for the memory of someone who isn’t coming. Tubbo slips a disc into the jukebox, a familiarly somber waltz crackling through. He hopes someone gives it to Tommy. It would only be right.

Tubbo slips a hand in and out of his pocket. 

He grasps a glass bottle, deep red liquid sloshing around.

He opens it.

“I’m sorry.” The apology falls off of his lips, barely a whisper.

As the sun disappears beyond the horizon, Tubbo drinks.

_ Tubbo_ was killed by magic. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!! The last chapter will be coming sometime in the next week so keep an eye out for that! I wanted to thank you all for the support I've been given on this work. It's really inspiring. I wanted to clarify a few things I implied that may have not come across to everyone.
> 
> \- Tubbo wakes up at the end of the first chapter because in-game, poison doesn't kill you, only takes you to half a heart.  
> \- The potion he brews in this chapter is a potion of harming, which is made by adding a fermented spider eye to a potion of poison. (you can also use a healing potion in place of the poison.)  
> \- The disc he plays at the end is mellohi, which is the disc Tommy gave him in a show of trust. Fun Fact: Mellohi is the only disc in 3/4 (waltz) so that's why I referenced it as such
> 
> Once again thank you so much for reading! Feel free to leave comments, questions, and criticism in the comments. Much love!
> 
> (Edit 1/6/21: edited for word choice, grammar, punctuation, and flow)
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/lunamarii__/)
> 
>   
> [reddit](http://reddit.com/u/borderline_alive)


	3. i don't think i want to leave you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Implied/Referenced: (Mild self-harm)  
> Explicit: Suicide Attempt, Major Character Death  
> CW: Swearing, Self-hatred
> 
> (edited 1/13/21: grammar, flow, more content)  
> 
> 
> chapter title is from "i'm sorry boris" by wilbur  
> beta-ed as always by the wonderful [Rudy_Rose_Heartbeat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rudy_Rose_Heartbeat/pseuds/Rudy_Rose_Heartbeat)

Tommy pulls a face as he mucks through the sewers. Like, yeah, he’d built them, but there was a reason he didn’t use them, _ever_. They were fucking gross. But _noooo_ , Technoblade was all, “Stop using invisibility potions when we have the sewers, Tommy, go breed the dogs, Tommy, stop stealing my shit, Tommy, I literally gave you things.” 

Tommy pauses for a second thinking. No, no, he was right to steal, he was always right. That pig bastard deserved it anyway, he’d betrayed Tommy, blown up L’manberg, killed Tubbo- 

Tommy winces at the thought. Yeah, Tubbo was acting like a bit of a prick right now, and Tommy had told him so to his face, but he was still Tubbo. Y’know, Tubbo, Tubbox, Tubbo in a box. _Your Tubbo_. The engraved compass in his pocket feels a bit heavier.

Tommy lets out a sigh of relief as he arrives at the bunker. Finally. He reaches into his pack and pulls out a stack of rotten flesh, the smell making him gag. He looks at one of the dogs. “This really does it for you?” The dog wags its tail. “Fine.” Tommy throws the whole stack in the direction of the tamed wolves and turns his back, shuddering at the sound of tearing flesh. Gross.

Job now done, Tommy pulls out his axe, breaking two logs to let himself into the apiary. No way in hell is he going back through those fucking sewers. He quickly replaces the logs, and turns to run, planning on making a mad dash to the portal, hoping that even if he’s seen, he’ll be too fast for them to hit.

Yeah, that plan falls through when he immediately gets his foot caught in a rose bush and trips face-first into the dirt. Shit. He thinks he may have just broken his nose. He pushes himself up and raises a hand to his nose. Bleeding, but not broken. Cool. 

He swings his pack around to the front to check that no potions had been broken when he fell. Strength, check, healing, check, speed, check, regeneration, check. All good.

Tommy goes to brush himself off and realizes that the compass has fallen out of his pocket. When he bends down to pick it up, he notices something strange with the direction it’s pointing. It’s been a while since he’s formally been in L’manberg, but he can still tell that the compass isn’t pointing at the White House. He’s confused, having heard from Ranboo that Tubbo has basically locked himself in his office for the past few months.

Well, he has nothing better to do, and worst-case scenario, he’s always been better at fighting than Tubbo. Tubbo’s never really liked hurting people.

\---------------------------------------------

Tommy almost trips over his own feet when he finally realizes where the compass had taken him. He’d spent the whole trip over trying to avoid being seen, so he hadn’t fully had his bearings. But now, he knows. 

Tommy stands frozen just a few metres away from a bench, his bench, _their_ bench. The song he hadn’t even realized was playing stops. The air is quiet. 

Tommy sees him. Tommy sees Tubbo slumped over, asleep, still dressed in his suit. What the hell was Quackity doing, letting Tubbo work himself to exhaustion. Tommy makes a mental note to pay the vice president a visit before he leaves. But for now, Tommy inches forward, approaching his best friend. 

“Tubbo?” he murmurs. No response.

Tommy walks around the bench. From here he can see how tired, how, quite frankly, _horrible_ , Tubbo looks. Tubbo’s eyes are permanently bruised from a lack of sleep and Tommy can make out every inch of his cheekbones. He’d also have to have a word with Big Q about making sure that Tubbo was eating.

“Tubbo?” he says quietly, hand coming to rest on the older’s cheek. Tubbo is freezing cold, his skin pale. He looks peaceful like this, eyes closed, curled up, still, no rise and fall of his che-

Tommy’s heart drops.

He’s not asleep. 

This can’t be real, this can’t be real, this can’t be real. 

“Tubbo, come on man, wake up, this isn’t fucking funny. Come on Tubs, come on,” Tommy pleads. Tommy’s hands scramble to Tubbo’s neck, head resting on the older’s chest, searching for a heartbeat, for _anything_.

There’s nothing.

It’s real.

“Oh god.” Tommy looks around frantically. “You’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna be fine,” he rambles, scrambling for his pack. He carelessly yanks his potions out, splashing them all on Tubbo, broken glass slicing into his palms, the wounds almost immediately healing from the potion residue that sticks to his hands. Tommy pours everything he has onto Tubbo, hoping, praying, for a miracle. 

“You’re gonna be just fine,” Tommy babbles. “You’re gonna wake up, and you’re gonna talk about fuckin’ bees and your stupid fucking bee house, and I’ll listen! I’ll listen, and you can talk about redstone, and that- that guardian farm you were building with Sam that you were really proud of, but you have to wake up.” Tommy’s words dissolve into choked sobs. 

“I can’t listen to you if you don’t wake up.” 

Tubbo had always believed in miracles.

Tommy hadn’t. 

He’s gone.

\---------------------------------------------

It’s Eret who finds them. 

Tommy is curled around Tubbo, face buried in his neck, cradling the older boy. It sends Eret straight back to the revolution, to Wilbur yelling at the two of them to stop goofing around, and Eret telling him to just let them be kids. 

He’d seen them in this position more than once, hidden in the tall grass, spent from a day of messing around. Eret had also seen the hidden fondness in Wilbur’s eyes as they’d carried the two to their beds. When Eret had asked about it, Wilbur had just responded, “They’re still just fucking kids, y’know?”

When he notices the stillness of Tubbo’s chest, he can’t help but wonder when they grew up.

\---------------------------------------------

Eret was forced to call Phil. When he’d tried to get Tommy to let go of Tubbo, the boy had lashed out, tears pouring down his face, screaming at Eret, blaming him. Eret let him. Tommy stayed with Tubbo.

So, Eret had called Phil. It was… difficult news to break over the phone. Eret had pretended not to hear the older man’s sobs. He’d told Phil to take as much time as he needed, that Eret would stay with the boys. But Phil had flown in shortly after, face blank. Eret could still see the red in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Eret says.

“It’s not your fault.” Eret’s mind flashes images of empty chests, buttons, pistons.

“I think it partially might be.”

\---------------------------------------------

Phil walks over to his kids, _god his kids_. He crouches down and places a gentle hand on the back of Tommy’s neck.

“Toms?” he says, keeping his voice as level as he can. Tommy’s head whips up.

“Dad? Dad, can you help, because I think Tubbo’s dead, and I don’t know how to fix it, and I don’t know how to be without him, and I’ve tried everything. Can you fix him?” His voice is scratchy and pleading and he’s so _young_. 

_Tubbo_ is- was so young.

“Tommy, love, I’m so sorry, but even-” Phil’s voice cracks. He looks up, willing himself to be strong. “Even I can’t fix this, bubba.” Tommy looks back at Tubbo.

“Y’know the last thing I said to him was that I hate him?” His voice wobbles. “I told him I hated him, and now he’s dead. And I don’t hate him, I never have, but- but he thought I did and-” Tommy’s eyes meet Phil’s. “Is this- did I- is this my fault? Did I do this?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Phil pulls Tommy and Tubbo in. And finally, he lets himself break.

\---------------------------------------------

Eret walks into L’manberg, chest feeling empty. He’d left Phil with the kids, feeling like he was intruding. He didn’t know what to do now.

“Eret, have you seen Tubbo?” Eret freezes in his tracks. He turns around to see Quackity, and he looks furious.

“Quackity-” 

“I have been looking for him all fucking day and he’s nowhere! Absolutely nowhere. Let me tell you, the next time I see that kid I-” Eret cuts him off.

“Quackity, something happened.”

\---------------------------------------------

The cries of the president of L’manberg echo in the streets.

\---------------------------------------------

“ _Hello, Eret! Have you seen Tubbo? I got him a new compass since he lost his other one. But it’s okay because Tommy lives somewhere new now, so it all works out!”_

Eret knows this is the least he can do, save Tommy and Phil the pain of reliving the event over and over. 

“Ghostbur, I have something to tell you.”

\---------------------------------------------

A few days later, Ghostbur floats between people dressed in black, confused as to why everyone is crying. A blond boy sits at the front clutching a worn bee plush. Someone else’s name is on the tag.

\---------------------------------------------

The funeral ended an hour ago. Eret has hidden in the control room. He knows no one but him comes down here, knows no one else can stand to be in the room. That’s what he thought, at least. A knock at the entrance startles him. 

“Can I come in?” Tommy stands in the doorway, saltwater tracked down his face, his eyes burning red. Eret sees that his suit doesn’t quite fit him, the shoulders a little too broad, the pants a bit too long. He recognizes it.

Eret nods. Tommy walks in and takes a seat next to where Eret had curled up in a corner, hands fiddling with the wings on the bee he still holds.

It’s quiet.

“He always admired you, y’know,” Tommy says breaking the silence. “He thought you were the coolest person he’d ever met, with your fuckin’ voice, and your height and shit. He even tried to convince Phil to send him sunglasses, so he could look like you too.” 

A tear slides down Eret’s face.

“And even after everything here-” Tommy gestures around. “He still liked you, admired you. ‘Course he’d never say it out loud, because Wilbur was, well Wilbur, after the war, and I hold grudges like a bitch, but you could tell. Got all soft and shit when talking about you. I mean, he loved you man. You were his Wilbur.” 

Eret crumbles, body shaking as he sobs. Tommy slides closer, wraps his arms around Eret.

Together, they mourn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thanks so much for reading. Not gonna lie, I have no idea how this chapter became Eret-centric but oh well! The support I got on this fic was incredible, and I wanted to thank you all for your kind words. I'm sorry for how it ended, and this will be the ending for now. While I hope to someday revisit this fic, I have a long list of one-shots and fic ideas to write. (fics include a "soldier, poet, king" songfic (complete and published now!) and a historical documentation of the rise and fall of L'manberg). As always, feel free to leave any comments, questions, or criticism in the comments, and leave a kudos if you liked. I hope you all enjoyed reading! 
> 
> Check out my other social medias:
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/lunamarii__/)
> 
> [reddit](http://reddit.com/u/borderline_alive)


	4. Extras!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some bits and bobs I came up with while writing that I either couldn't work in, or take place after the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🦀 tubbo is gone 🦀

  * The bee plush becomes the most important thing to Tommy. Months later, Sapnap takes it as a joke, and Tommy takes one of his canon lives. No one touches the bee after that.



  * The burned down remnants of Tubbo’s house stay up. Touching it, breaking it, taking anything, is prohibited



  * About 5 months after Tubbo’s death, Tommy is found inconsolable. They finally manage to work out that Tommy is now older than Tubbo was. No one knows how to comfort him.



  * Sam knows that the storage in the Guardian farm is inefficient. He still can’t bring himself to fix it.



  * When Wilbur comes back, Tommy isn’t there. When he finds Tommy, the first thing he does is apologize for not being there for him, for _Tubbo._ Tommy mourns again in his brother’s arms. It hurts just as much as the first time.



  * Also, in case you didn’t catch it, the suit Tommy wears to the funeral is Wilbur’s




	5. five months (one-shot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been five months since Tubbo died. Someone breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a one-shot based on the controversial 3rd bullet point
> 
> not beta-ed
> 
> important info in the bottom notes

Techno has decided that he hates villagers. He’s been standing in his basement for two hours now trying to get them to stop stealing each other’s jobs and stand still. It isn’t working. He’s _so_ close to letting a zombie in, but he’s pulled from his thoughts when he hears his doors slam open. Techno lets out a sigh.

“Have we never heard of knocking?” he grumbles, pulling himself up the ladder. He turns to berate whatever idiot has just burst into his house and is immediately put on edge. It’s Ranboo, and the teen is breathing hard, a distressed look on his face.

“Sorry… for not… knocking…” he huffs out. “But it’s important.”

“What’s going on?” Techno asks cautiously, hand coming to rest on the hilt of his sword.

“Something’s happening with Tommy.” Shit.

“And you thought _I_ was the person to get?” 

“Phil told me to get you, he said you’d be able to help.” This throws Techno for a loop. Phil knows that his relationship with Tommy is rocky at best, Techno last having seen him at the funeral. God, that was almost five months ago. _Has it really been that long?_ As unsure as he is, Techno trusts Phil unconditionally. He looks at Ranboo.

“Lead the way.”

\---------------------------------------------

Techno is on guard as he and Ranboo step through the community portal. While Techno isn’t _technically_ banned anymore, he is well aware that the people who live in L’manberg and the Greater Dream SMP aren’t his biggest fans. Techno is about to start down the Prime Path to where he knows Tommy’s house is when he feels a hand grab his wrist. He whips around, axe drawn. 

“Wait!” It was Ranboo. _Of course it was_ , he mentally chides himself, _no one else is even around_.

“What is it, kid?” Techno grunts out, unhappy at being startled. Ranboo has the dignity to look apologetic.

“It’s just- I’m so sorry by the way, I didn’t mean to startle you, I know how it feels, I really am sorry but-” The kid is rambling, and honestly looks a little terrified. 

“Ranboo.” The boy quickly quiets, rearranging himself.

“Yes, Mr. Technoblade- Sir- The Blade- I-”

“What. Is. It.” Ranboo runs a hand across the back of his neck.

“It’s just, Tommy doesn’t live that way anymore.” Techno is struck with the realization that he knows his little brother even less than he thought he did. He huffs.

“Then by all means,” Techno says, gesturing to Ranboo.

\---------------------------------------------

Ranboo leads Techno to a plains biome, not unlike the one Logstedshire once stood in, albeit much smaller. At first, it appears deserted, but then Techno spots a small wooden house, right in the middle of the field.

“That doesn’t really look like something Tommy would build, are you sure we’re in the right place?” He asks Ranboo, a sense that something is _wrong_ growing in his chest.

“This is the right place, but you’re right that he didn’t build it,” comes the younger’s response. Techno doesn’t ask who did. He can guess.

As they slowly approach, the feeling in Techno’s chest amplifies until it’s hard for him to breathe. His apprehension isn’t misplaced, as sitting in front of the door, holding himself with his wings, is Phil. 

Phil’s eyes raise from the ground and he stands as he hears the two’s footsteps. When he sees Techno, a sad smile rests on his face.

“Hey, Techno, mate.”

“Hi, Phil.” _Hi, Dad._ “Phil, what is going on?” The unasked question of _what the hell am I doing here_ doesn’t go unnoticed by Phil.

“Ranboo, mate, can you give us a minute?” He asks, turning to the teen standing awkwardly a few feet away.

“Oh yeah, no, of course.” Ranboo’s eyes dart around before he teleports away. Techno looks back at Phil. 

“Phil, why the hell did you ask Ranboo to come get me? You know I haven’t spoken to Tommy in ages, why did you-”

“Tech, do you remember why you called me the day after Wilbur died?” _Oh_.

“It was 5 months?” Techno asks quietly.

“Yeah.” 

“How is he, is he-” Phil looks at Techno with sad eyes.

“I was walking up to come visit when I heard him crying. It was-” Phil sucks in a breath. “To hear that sound is something I would never wish on anyone.” Techno’s heart breaks a little. “He’s gone almost catatonic now, won’t even look at you if you try to talk to him. I want to help, but I just can’t understand what he’s going through.”

“But I can.” Phil lets out an insincere chuckle.

“But you can.”

\---------------------------------------------

Techno doesn’t have to look very hard to find Tommy. He’s sitting curled up in a ball next to the bed, his hair a mess, and red scratch marks are visible up and down his arms. A green shirt and a stuffed bee lay on the bed. Tommy doesn’t look up when Techno enters.

“Tommy?” No response. Techno sighs and goes to sit next to his younger brother. He mirrors the boy’s position, pulling his knees to his chest, making himself small. They sit in silence. 

About 5 minutes later, Techno breaks it.

“Y’know, for my entire life, Wilbur lorded it over me that he was 3 hours older,” Techno starts. “His argument for everything was ‘oh, well I’m older’. He used it for _anything_ , to get the top bunk, the last piece of chocolate, even to try to get me to throw sparring matches. It was annoying as hell, but it was a fact. Wilbur is older than me by 3 hours, always has been, always will be.”

Techno hears a quiet sniffle.

“I don’t know if you ever noticed, but he would try to use it in Pogtopia too, try to overrule me. It never worked, obviously, but he still tried.” Techno lets out a wet laugh. He wonders when he started crying.

“For me, it didn’t set in until the next day. After… everything, I went back to the ravine to grab some supplies and I ran. I got maybe a thousand blocks out before I felt safe enough to try to plan my next step. I wanted to set up in a desert, maybe even in the Nether, somewhere hot and comfortable, but I had already resigned myself to living somewhere else. After all, Wilbur’s always liked the cold.” He steels himself to relive the next part.

“I even- I even turned to him, waiting for him to say his piece and pull the card he’d always pulled. But he wasn’t there. And I realized-” Techno takes a moment to breathe past the lump in his chest. “I realized that he couldn’t play that card anymore. That he wasn’t older than me anymore.” 

Tommy’s breath hitches.

Techno keeps going. “I shut down. It was bad. I was angry and hurting and it was so painful. So I just, shut the part of me that hurt off. I went into the Nether, and I just killed. I killed skeletons, piglins, hoglins, even fucking zombie pigmen. I didn’t care. You could have put anyone, _anyone_ , in front of me and I would have cut their head off. When I left, I called Phi-” Techno stops himself.

“I called Dad. That grief, what I felt, is not something that you should deal with alone. It hurts so bad, and I know you just want to hurt the world as much as it hurt you, but Toms, you’re not alone. There are so many people who are here for you.” Techno extends his legs and places a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. 

“I’m here for you.” It takes a second, but Techno blinks, and all of a sudden he has a lap full of his youngest brother, the teen throwing his arms around Techno’s neck. He can feel his cloak being soaked with tears, but he doesn’t care, just wraps his arms tight around the boy.

Techno runs his hand up and down Tommy’s back, trying to soothe him, humming a melody he remembers Wilbur singing to Tommy when he had nightmares.

They sit like that for a while—Techno couldn’t tell you how long—until he hears a small muffled voice.

“I’ve always- I’ve always been the youngest, and it’s not fair- not fair for me to be older than him. It’s not fair,” Tommy stammers out, his voice catching in his throat. Techno strokes his hair.

“It’s not fair. The world has been far too unkind to you both, and hurt you far too much.”

“Does it- does it ever go away?”

“I don’t know. It does get easier, I think. It hurts less as time goes on, but I don’t think it goes away. I don’t think I’d want it to.”

“Why?”

“I feel like the only way it would go away, for me, is if I forgot Will. And no matter how much it might hurt, I don’t think I’d ever want to forget him.” Seeing Tommy like this, Techno realizes just how young he really is. 

“I don’t want to forget Tubbo.” Techno holds him just a bit tighter before he responds.

“You won’t. I promise.”

\---------------------------------------------

When Phil finally opens the door, he finds his sons asleep, Techno curled around Tommy like he could shield him from the world. Phil can’t help but remember when he used to find a pile of four instead of two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So, important info first, I'm officially writing a sequel! I have a bunch of ideas for it and I'm really excited to write. I'll also be posting one-shots from this au in this book, and I have at least one coming in the near future. Once again, thank you all so much for reading. Leave a kudos if you enjoyed, and feel free to leave comments, questions, or criticisms in the comments!
> 
> You can find me on these socials:
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/lunamarii__/)
> 
> [reddit](http://reddit.com/u/borderline_alive)
> 
> also if you're a fic writer, check out [qar's discord (the writer's block](https://discord.gg/w9CwSK26mm)! it's a wonderful community.


	6. not an update

Hey, y'all. So as you saw from the chapter title, this is unfortunately not an update. I'm actually taking a break from writing on here for a couple of reasons. I'm swamped with the schoolwork of junior year, and I'm also struggling a bit with my mental health. It's nothing bad or dangerous, just trying to learn how to manage my ADHD.

I know that I didn't need to make this update, but I felt bad for not posting for a while. It doesn't feel fair to just go AWOL, especially with the kind words I received on this fic. I really want to come back, and can't wait until I feel ready and able to write again. 

I've been in fandom and fanfic culture for a really long time, and I can honestly say that the MCYT and DSMP fic communities are the kindest and most respectful I've ever seen.

I'll still be active on my twitter, which is linked at the bottom of all my notes.

Love you all, and can't wait to see you again.

\- lunamarii


End file.
